


Moving On

by Usedtobehmc



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: F/M, M/M, post breakup fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-19 05:08:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5954740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Usedtobehmc/pseuds/Usedtobehmc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(This fic was written in 2014 but never got posted here) In response to the OTP prompt that schmogg reblogged: "Imagine your OTP meeting years after they broke up, moved on and in happier relationships/with families of their own/with their own lives, and becoming (just) friends again."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moving On

Spy was staring down 55 years when he ran into Sniper again in The States.  It wasn’t *exactly* a coincidence: Helen had passed away under mysterious circumstances (as if she was capable of any other kind) and left her gargantuan estate to the mercs.  They’d all been called to Denver of all places to claim their bequeathals.  

But the fact that they’d run into each other three days before they were scheduled to meet at her estate was extremely strange, bordering on miraculous, considering the size of the city.  

They almost missed one another, but Spy would recognize that lazy, long-legged gait anywhere.  He'd done a double-take at first but his instincts were right: that was Sniper.  

Sniper was surprisingly very happy to see him.  There was no trace of anger or awkwardness, just an obvious relief and joy that was so genuine it made Spy’s heart ache just a bit.  The hug was enthusiastic and maybe went on for a moment too long.

****

Sniper lived in the Outback with his wife, he told Spy at the restaurant they went to for dinner.  Spy took a pull off his cigarette and lifted an artful eyebrow.  “I could have sworn you didn’t _really_ swing that way,"  he teased.

Sniper smirked a bit sheepishly.  "Course I do.  Reckon you were an exception to the rule." 

Spy remembered how obviously inexperienced Sniper was when they were together, so it made sense.  "I’m flattered,"  he pretended to swoon.  "So what is she like?  I want to know all about her.  Is she a kangaroo?”

“Wanker,” Sniper laughed.  “She's… she’s gorgeous.  I have a picture,” he pulled out his wallet and presented to Spy a picture of a statuesque black woman wearing a lapis lazuli blue dress.  Her skin was among the darkest he’d ever seen and she wore her hair _au naturel_.  The picture was taken outside and the sun was obviously making her squint, but she still smiled for the snapshot.  Spy noticed that she had a hunting rifle in her hand. 

“Tariro."  Sniper said, a faraway look in his eyes.

 

 

"She hunts?”

“We hunt together,” he answered proudly, giving Spy a few more seconds with the picture and then snapping his wallet shut with a flourish so it could go back in his pocket.  “Dunno what she’s doin’ with me, but as soon as I was able, I got her a ring.  Strong, happy, smart.  Not so good at building a campfire.”  

Spy smiled, it was obvious the man was totally smitten with this woman.  “Any little ones on the horizon?”

“Oh… no, probably not."  Sniper mused, thinking it over a bit.  "She doesn’t seem interested really, and I gotta admit, the thought of a little ankle-biter turns my stomach a bit, mate."  He shook his head, taking a sip of beer to chase away the idea.  "What about you?  Got a saucy little thing and a few nippers running about Paris, breaking hearts?"  He elbowed Spy gently.

"I do have a saucy little thing, yes."  Spy bragged.  "But no ‘nippers.'  We aren’t the type."  He shrugged and sipped his wine.

"Yeah, I hear ya.  Married?”

“We know where we stand." 

"Crikey, you haven’t changed,"  Sniper laughed and shook his head with no trace of malice.  "Got a few more greys there, though.  Those are new.”  He swiped his thumb along Spy's temple, brushing a few stray hairs back to where they belonged.  

“I’m told it makes me look distinguished,"  Spy huffed back and Sniper raised his hands in surrender.  "I wish I could say you’ve gotten fat, but it looks more like muscle to me.  I hate you."  Spy mock-sneered at him.  

"Hard livin’ out there in the bush.  Lotsa work,” he shrugged.  “Tell me about your woman, though.  I really want to know what kind of sheila tamed the famed Casanova.”   Sniper signaled the bartender for another round and finished off his beer.  He pulled out a 20 and slapped it on the bar.  

“No woman could tame me,” he said, being purposefully obtuse, but Sniper saw right through him.

“Ha!  It’s a man!  Thought you could trick me!"  Sniper slapped him on the back and Spy burst out laughing, though he was disappointed that the man already knew all his tricks.  "Come on then, tell me about him.  Saucy, eh?  Is he some young slip of a boy half your age?”

“He’s 30, I’ll have you know!”

“Oh, so practically!  A few less years and he’d be _exactly_ half your age,"  Sniper snickered into his fresh mug of beer and Spy sputtered mostly because he’d never done the math and Sniper was exactly right.  

"Pft, he’s an old soul.  I’m an old man.  Perfect match."  Spy would have been content to leave it there, but Sniper pressed him.

"Come on, don’t be such a bloody spy, Spy.  Tell me about him.”

Spy sighed, trying to find the correct words.  “He's… quiet.  Likes to read any book he can get his hands on, mostly historical.  He loves to cook, loves opera, prefers a quiet night in but accompanies me out on the town enough to satisfy my restlessness.”

“What’s his name?”

“Anthony.”

“He sounds great.”

“He’s perfect.  He makes me happy to stay in on a Saturday night.”

“ _Crikey_.”

“Indeed.”

They talked for a few more hours, about anything they could think of.  The reminisced about the old days, caught the other up on what they did after the war (“after we broke up” was left unsaid), and stories about their significant others.  

Long after they’d been kicked out of the bar when it closed, they were still walking the streets of the city and exchanging stories.  

Spy was the first to look at his watch.  “Mon Dieu, it’s three o'clock.”  

“Didn’t even notice.  I should get back though, I’m useless without my shuteye."  Sniper rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous gesture Spy remembered from the old days.  "My hotel’s this way,” He gestured to the north.

“Mine is three blocks from here,” he pointed to the East.  

In that moment, it became clear they’d have to say goodbye for the night.  

They decided that sleep could wait a little longer.

 

end


End file.
